The 49th Parallel
by aphnope
Summary: Alfred and Matthew are just like any other siblings, except that they're...well, near-immortal personifications of nations. There's also the fact that they fight for territory, not for possession of the remote control (though they certainly do that, too). On Matthew's 151st birthday, he takes time to reminisce on the centuries of friendship and history he shares with his brother.


They'd met before, without a doubt. Arthur had called it an introduction, but in reality, it was more of a reunion. Upon seeing his brother, his southern counterpart, his near-perfect mirror image, deja vu swept over Matthew's entire being like a tsunami, and with that deja vu came memories. They were hazy, but they were there: memories of wandering from settlement to settlement, of picking wildflowers, of cold, snowy winters and of vibrant, redeeming springs.

Matthew could remember playing with a boy that he had met once or twice while wandering. At the time, he didn't think much of Alfred. When they were together, neither said a word, yet they understood each other perfectly. There was an implicit bond between them, and they were friends in an effortless way, unbothered by borders and alliances and land disputes. It was only when Matthew first looked into a lake and saw glimpses of Alfred in his own reflection that he realized how very connected he and this boy were.

Then, of course, came their official introduction. Alfred quickly established himself as an excitable optimist, unfailingly cheery and always armed with a blindingly bright grin. Matthew, on the other hand, was the shyer brother, a realist who preferred to quietly (and privately) observe the world around him.

"We're balanced," Matthew had said one late spring evening to Alfred. They were relaxing outside, Alfred marveling at the stars and Matthew content to simply listen to the sound of owls hooting and crickets chirping.

"You're loud; I'm quiet," Matthew continued. "You like arguing with Arthur; I tend to agree with him. You're bold; I'm careful. We balance each other out."

"Guess so," Alfred replied, still looking up. "Do you see that one?" He pointed at the night sky, peppered with stars. "That's Orion's belt. And those two—Pollux and Castor—"

"—are part of the Gemini constellation, also known as the Heavenly Twins," Matthew finished, receiving a surprised look from his brother. "I do listen to you, you know."

In that moment, he'd felt equal to Alfred. For ten years (beginning in 1763, when he became a British colony), they had done nearly everything together. They went sledding in the winter, collected leaves in the fall, blew dandelions in the spring, and went swimming in the summer.

But all good things must come to an end, or so the saying goes. Alfred escaped his state of perpetual childhood and began to look more and more like a teenager, leaving Matthew unable to compete. The spark of revolution invaded Alfred's mind like wildfire; it occupied his entire being. By the time Alfred asked—no, demanded—that Matthew join him in the fight, he appeared 14 and much more mature than Matthew could ever hope to be. They were no longer on an even playing field, and with his physical age of 12 Matthew had no choice but to feel inferior to his brother.

Part of Matthew wanted Alfred's revolution to fail. He wanted things to go back to the way they were before, back when Alfred didn't look at Matthew with disgust for his loyalty to the Crown, his refusal to rebel.

But Alfred didn't fail. In fact, he came out victorious when no one thought he could, and the fact that his victory was aided by Francis only made Matthew's internal turmoil worse. Years passed, and soon enough, another war broke out.

This time, it was more personal. Each and every invasion on his land felt like a stab to Matthew's heart, and each building burnt in York was like a burn to Matthew himself. And although he was fighting alongside Arthur and his troops, Matthew had never felt so alone. This wasn't Arthur's land. It was merely his colony, his possession, and the pain Matthew felt could never be shared by Arthur.

Revenge. That was what Arthur wanted. Matthew's more sinister side wanted it too, but the more humane side, the side that knew Alfred as a brother and friend, longed to forgive Alfred for starting this silly war and come together as brothers and friends once more.

"We're going to capture Washington," Arthur had told him, casually sipping his evening tea. "Tomorrow. Troops are already preparing."

"Are they?" Matthew asked.

"He deserves this, Matthew. Don't you remember what he did to you?"

Matthew scoffed. "How could I not?" He paused, thinking. "But I'm not so sure if revenge is the answer."

Arthur stood up, having finished his tea. "Oh Matthew," he said, green eyes scanning the younger's expression. "Never let this world change you."

The next day, a hot August day, British ships sailed toward Washington, D.C., first targeting the Capitol building and then the White House, looting and setting both alight. Matthew's darker side got what it wanted: a chance to see Alfred's most important buildings burn in the same way his had and eventually succumb to beautiful, dangerous, deadly fire. He only got one glimpse of Alfred, but the fire that illuminated his brother's eyes was enough to tell him that this battle was not entirely over.

The Treaty of Ghent ended the War of 1812. It truly was a silly war: Alfred gained no land from it, while Matthew lost none. The borders between their countries were more defined, yes, but that didn't matter as much to Matthew. He got to see Alfred again, not on the battlefield, but in a London meeting room—as friends, not enemies—for the Anglo-American convention four years after the war.

"Alfred," he said, approaching his brother. For once, he didn't think over what he was going to say beforehand. "I'm, u-uh, sorry—"

"For what?" The rage in Alfred's expression made Matthew's heart clench. His blue eyes, usually inviting, like the sky, were cold and unforgiving. "For sitting idly by as Arthur burnt down my capital?"

"W-well, yes, but—"

"—But what? I'm sorry, Matthew, but I don't know if I can forgive you anytime soon. Do you know how it feels to have your heart singed, and blackened, and charred by fire from the inside out?"

Matthew set his jaw, now visibly angry. "Actually," he began loudly, "I do know how it feels. I suppose you've probably forgotten, but you did almost exactly the same thing to York."

"That's even worse," Alfred replied, raising his voice. "The fact that you knew what that pain was like and still did that to me…"

Matthew narrowed his eyes icily. "I disagree. I was just making things balanced again."

Alfred tried to speak again, but Matthew cut him off. "At first, Arthur liked you better because you were an asset to the Empire. You had warmer weather than me, valuable farmland, a growing economy…" He chuckled bitterly. "Now he only likes me because I'm obedient."

Again, Matthew interrupted before his brother could speak. "You're selfish, stubborn, way too aggressive, rude, immature—"

"You can stop now," Alfred growled. "It's not like you're perfect, either. You're a goody-two-shoes, afraid to take risks, overly loyal to Eyebrows, and I—"

Alfred's voice cracked, and tears started welling in his eyes. He rushed up to Matthew and enveloped him in a strangling hug, and with a bit of hesitation, Matthew slowly wrapped his arms around his brother, patting his back as he let out choked sobs.

"I missed you," Alfred mumbled quietly. "Sometimes I wish we could just be normal people. We could be brothers, and only that. We wouldn't have to worry about politics, or wars, or the economy…" He sniffled a bit. "We could both grow up, fall in love, get married, and live such wonderful, simple lives."

Matthew smiled. "If only we could," he murmured.

Alfred nodded, looking at his brother. "If only."

The War of 1812 marked the last time that Matthew and Alfred officially fought against each other, and as such, it was the dawn of a new era. They were bound to have disagreements here and there (they were siblings, after all), but Matthew knew that the War of 1812 had changed things. He and Alfred were balanced once again.

The following years passed by in a dizzying blur for Matthew. There were new inventions, like the telegraph and the steam-powered engine. There was a worrisome time where Manifest Destiny was the only thing on Alfred's mind. There was the Civil War, where Matthew and thousands of his countrymen headed South to fight alongside the Union. Matthew had intended to fight, but instead remained at his brother's bedside, alarmed by the rift that ran deeply through Alfred's nation in addition to Alfred himself.

Then there was Confederation, and Matthew almost couldn't believe that he had gotten his autonomy. July 1, 1867—it would become his birthday, a date that he very much liked because it occurred before July 4 in the calendar year. To top it all off, Alfred had congratulated him, an important step in their alliance as nations.

Inevitably, time went on. The 20th century arrived. Matthew fought in WWI and WWII and tried not to resent his brother for entering both so late, for being so unwilling to get involved while their allies were under attack. He helped to liberate Europe, even getting assigned his own beach (Juno) in Normandy.

And then, naturally, people found more ways to fight against each other. The Cold War. Capitalism versus communism. Matthew, as might be expected, found himself siding with his brother and the rest of the Western world, even going so far as to form NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command, to protect the North American continent from "the immense threat of the Soviet Union," as Alfred put it. As the decades passed and history was made, the alliance between both America and Canada and Alfred and Matthew only got stronger.

So here he was now, over four centuries later, relaxing under the Peace Arch that stood tall at the westernmost border crossing between their respective nations.

"Hey," he heard, breaking his train of thought. It was Alfred, a sheepish smile on his face and a wrapped present in hand. "Dude, so sorry I'm late! I had to take care of some stuff in D.C. this morning and my flight out here was delayed. Happy birthday!"

"It's no problem. I was just admiring the arch and all."

Alfred plopped down on the bench next to Matthew. "I still can't believe the saying you chose for your side. 'Brethren dwelling together in unity'? Seriously? I mean, who even uses the word brethren nowadays?"

"Me," Matthew said, unable to suppress his smile. "We're brethren. Bre-thren."

"I still like my side better."

"What, because it says 'Children of a common mother' on it?"

Alfred grinned. "Do you remember Arthur's reaction? Oh man, that was golden. He got all red and started blubbering on about how we were insinuating that he's somehow feminine…"

"I could never forget that. Such an important moment in history," Matthew said dryly. Turning his attention toward the gift, he asked, "So, what'd you bring me?"

"Open it and find out! But first, I've been wondering…why don't you ever want to have a big birthday party? You know, if I planned one it would be badass, like, with a rock version of "O Canada," and it could be at an ice skating rink so you could pulverize Russia and Germany for beating you at hockey this past Olympics, and I bet tons of people would come because everyone loves you—"

"Alfred, what I'm doing right now is almost exactly how I've celebrated my birthday for the past 151 years, with some exceptions for wars and such, but I'm fine with that. Morning in Ottawa, afternoon with you and sometimes a few others. Honestly, parties kinda tire me out, and everyone sends me birthday wishes and gifts through the internet now." Matthew patted Alfred's shoulder reassuringly. "Besides, that's why I go to your party. I get free food, free drinks, goodie bags…"

"Hey, don't just mooch off of me!" Alfred said in mock indignation. He handed Matthew the present, which was covered in Christmas wrapping paper. "Open 'er up!"

Matthew did so, smirking at the candy cane-covered paper as he tore it off, then opened up the box.

"It's…maple syrup? Don't you think I have enough of that?"

Alfred grinned devilishly. "Check the label."

"U.S.D.A. grade AA syrup from Vermont—" he read aloud, suddenly breaking out into quiet laughter. "I refuse to accept your gift of non-Quebecois maple syrup. I'm sorry to say we're no longer _brethren_ ," Matthew added jokingly.

"Aw, thanks, bro. I know you love me."

They spent the rest of the evening walking along the beach and chatting about anything and everything, from the latest SpaceX project to the fact that the inventor of Flamin' Hot Cheetos was a janitor. They hadn't been spending enough time together lately, mostly due to government obligations and global summits and all sorts of other responsibilities, so this was a welcome change.

It was on the 49th parallel that divided Washington state and British Columbia where Matthew realized that he and Alfred shared an alliance and friendship that transcended beyond the current sway of politics, and he figured that was a pretty good realization to have on your 151st birthday.


End file.
